


In His Hands

by verucasalt123



Series: Supernatural 30 Snapshots - Elemental [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: All of the things, Gen Work, Het, Male Slash, Multi, No pairings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 6,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3364679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/pseuds/verucasalt123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of tiny little short stories based on a prompt table. I will add any warnings needed with the individual stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In His Hands (Castiel - gen)

**Author's Note:**

> Castiel adjusts to humanity.

His limbs felt heavy. Consciously, he knew they were unchanged physically, but there was this pulling sensation, like he was being held to the ground. It wasn’t that Castiel wasn’t aware of the phenomenon of gravity, just that he hadn’t felt it before. 

 

He rode with Sam and Dean, learned to use firearms, and had become proficient. Fighting with his hands was still easier, more familiar. But learning this skill was essential in his new life here on Earth. 

 

There were days when he longed for his connection to the Host, but more often he was pleased with his ability to adjust. 

 

Smells and sounds were different now. Tastes, too, another new sensation. 

 

Heaven was gone, at least until the mortal life Castiel had now reached its end. Even then, he couldn’t be sure he’d be allowed to go back.

 

For now, he concentrated on that feeling of being physically anchored to the ground whether he was sitting or standing or lying down. Earth was his new home, and he knew he could learn to adapt. 

 

Sitting on a park bench eating an ice cream cone, Castiel reached down and touched the grass, and the dirt below it. A piece of the place where he belonged now right there in his hand. He knew he could not hold a piece of Heaven in his hand, and smiled to himself.


	2. Sense Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many different ways. (Sam/Dean, Sam/Ruby, Sam/Jessica)

Sam’s memories of being touched were varied and complicated and jumbled.

Bobby had scooped him up into his arms and hurried him inside when he’d cut himself on the jagged edge of the frame of an old junker in his scrapyard, he couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old.

When he was fifteen, John had punched him square in the jaw in the middle of a heated argument, a moment both would always regret. Sam never knew how much John beat himself up for losing his temper like that.

Jess touched his cheek every time they kissed, and he’d never forget even a single one of those times.

He held Ruby down (only as much as she would allow) while his mouth devoured her, whether it was to suck on an open bloody cut on her arm or to bring her to orgasm with his tongue unrelenting on her clit.

Castiel took his hand with a great deal of hesitance, as if he were not worthy of the physical contact. Which Sam had to agree he probably wasn’t at the time.

Now, though, Dean…Dean touched him like only he could, draining all the tension from Sam’s body as he pushed down on Sam’s thighs so hard it would leave marks come morning.

His whole life sometimes narrowed down to the physical sensation of someone else’s skin on his own.


	3. Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam fights his hallucinations of Lucifer. (implied past Wincest)

It’s going to stop. It is, it is, it absolutely is, I know it, it can’t just go on like this forever – 

_I am forever, Sammy, you know that_

There’s something – yes, there is – something that makes it stop, even just for a little while. Dean doesn’t have to know.

_Dean is going to know_

Stop shaking, get control of yourself, I think, taking a deep breath and trying to ease into it. The scar on my hand is useless now, healed, despite my best efforts.

Dean’s out at the bar. Walking. I spare a second to wonder if he can make it back to the motel safely, as he will surely be completely hammered by the time he leaves. But that’s hours away, and it’s just me here

_And me, I’m here too, you can’t forget about me, can you?_

Maybe not, but I can make you go away for a while, I know that, gripping the liner-lock pocket knife I lifted from Dean’s duffel. He won’t see it here, we don’t walk around shirtless anymore, not since he can’t stand the sight of the mark on his shoulder, not since we don’t take off our clothes and…well, not since all that. 

The first line is crooked, starting under my collarbone and following a diagonal trail about three inches down across the top of my chest. He is not going to break my spirit, not again, not again, not **fucking ever again**.

_Sammy, darling, don’t make those kinds of marks on yourself, you know how beautiful I think you are_

I use toilet paper to wipe up the blood flowing from that first cut, can’t use a towel, Dean will see a bloody towel. I don’t look, just start a second line, a little lower, a little longer, a little deeper.

_You don’t want to see me? I’m hurt, Sam, I thought we had something”_

More, then. This isn’t enough to make him disappear.

Another slice, more pressure, more blood, a perfectly straight line, my breath catches on the edge of the pain. 

He’s talking again but I can’t hear him, he’s flickering, fading. 

He doesn’t know, doesn’t understand, I’ve gotten it back, that spirit I used to have, broken and shattered in the Cage, it’s mine again now. Mine. 

He can’t have it. 

One more cut, just to be safe. I flush all the bloody toilet paper, let the wounds stop bleeding before I put my t-shirt back on. 

He’s gone, and I’ve still got my brother, and I’ve still got me. 

Not like he won’t be back. Fuck him. Come on back, I’ll keep slicing away but it’s only my body, not my soul, not the spirit that forces me back to reality when I call on its power.


	4. Blue On Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little piece of 2014!Dean's perspective on the world. (no pairing)

Strange, the things that you don’t notice at the end of the world. 

Making my perimeter check around the camp, the quiet was a welcome respite from a hectic day. I’d already passed my least-favorite part of my rounds, the spot where I’d abandoned the Impala when we’d gotten here. Seeing the weeds poking out through the rusted holes in her frame still stung, but she didn’t have any place in this new world, even I knew that. I always held my breath when I passed her, afraid to breathe the air in her space. 

Looking up at the night sky was easier than looking up during the day. The darkness hid the acrid clouds of ash that loomed above them, turning the sky an orange-red color, the result of the destruction that had been wrought in the past couple of years. Everyone was sick at first, just from breathing, but they all eventually got used to the air tasting like ash. Now, I never even thought about it anymore. 

At least, not until I gazed up at night. The stars I used to watch with…The stars I used to watch as a kid were hidden. The color was just all wrong. The rotten smell and taste of the air never changed. Past the clouds, I knew the stars and the clear sky were still up there somewhere. But when things pile up like this, one on top of the other, you can’t see what’s underneath. Like blue on black, no matter what I tried to cover it up with, the darkness was still there, still in the air, surrounding me, enveloping all of us in what was left.


	5. Push

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Impala is hard to kill (no pairing)

Dean’s baby was heavy. She was sturdy and made of steel and big and resistant to just about anything. 

He’d skidded on ice when he was 19, scraped her against a guard rail, but he’d fixed her right up, good as new.

Sam had driven her through a house, and she still cranked right back up when Dean turned the key in the ignition.

She’s gone down under the weight of an 18-wheeler at full speed, but he’d brought her back. Well, most of the way, before he’d smashed her in with a crowbar halfway through the job.

She forgave him for that. 

She was in as perfect condition as she’d ever been when it hit them in Bootback. A swarm of demons twisting the air into a wind stronger than a tornado, tossing her over and over, crushing her from every side with Dean and Bobby along for the ride.

Fuck that, Dean thought. It would take a shitload more than a cloud of demon wind to take his baby out. 

He crawled in and started his work. He’d bring her back again.


	6. Click

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robo!Sam has a night out (potential non/dub-con breathplay, rough sex. Robo!Sam/OFC)

Sam welcomed the music and noise of the bar far more than the chattering of the family (family?) he spent most of his time with. There was a memory, a vague one, just outside of his reach, something about family, about not liking to be alone. It wasn’t worth chasing after, clearly, because what could a memory do for him? 

The bartender had provided him with a couple of shots, tequila, no salt or lime or whatever the fuck she’d offered him along with it, and on a whim, he asked for a pack of cigarettes. When she’s asked what kind, he just said “Cigarettes.” He wasn’t sure why she looked like she was afraid of him, but he didn’t give much thought to that either. Didn’t matter.

He couldn’t remember smoking before, but there were lots of things Sam couldn’t remember, so what the hell. He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, noting the way it made his lungs feel tight, like his breath was constricted just for a second before he blew the smoke out. Interesting. 

The scene around him was just that, like a picture, something for him to observe and catalogue. The bartender was marginally attractive, but she was working. There was a man by the jukebox who caught his attention, tall and muscular with a leather jacket. Pass. He wasn’t in the mood for a guy tonight. He ground out his cigarette and lit another, continuing to take in his surroundings. Brief pictures that he considered, judged, then moved on. 

Sam’s fourth cigarette and fifth shot of tequila in, he finally stopped. There was another brief picture. Click. She was small, attractive enough, alone, and drunk. All right, then. He threw a couple of bills onto the counter, left the rest of his cigarettes sitting there, and walked over to where the girl was half-slouched in her seat.

“You’ve had enough to drink. You want to get out of here?” Sam asked, by way of introduction. 

She looked up at him, just a moment of hesitation, before she agreed and followed him out the back door. Within minutes, her back was scraping against the brick wall in the alley behind the bar as Sam roughly hiked up her skirt, tearing off her panties and discarding them on the ground. 

“Wait, I – I’m not sure…”

“Too late. I’ll make it good. I’m not a psycho or anything.” Was he a psycho? He thought probably not. 

Before she had a chance to say anything else, he slid one hand between her legs, pushing two fingers inside of her. And bullshit she wasn’t sure, she was already dripping wet. But she started talking again, so Sam put his other hand around her throat. Not hard enough to hurt her or anything. Probably. 

She made this sound, probably all she could manage, a clicking noise as her breath was mostly cut off. _Mostly_ , not completely, Sam didn’t want to strangle her, he just wanted her to shut up while he fucked her. As his fingers drove deeper, harder into her, he felt her muscles clench and her body shudder. He’d made her come, that was good, she shouldn’t have anything to complain about now. Maybe the breathing thing, but it’s not like he was holding the girl hard enough to asphyxiate her or anything, just enough to keep her quiet. He kept one hand on her throat as he turned her around to face the wall, pulled her into a convenient position, unbuttoned his pants and shoved his cock into her. It probably hurt, from the guttural sounds she was still able to make, but Sam could tell she was still getting off on it, so he kept her still and fucked her until his own orgasm worked its way out of him. Maybe he should have used a condom. A girl who would fuck a stranger in an alley could have some kind of disease. Anyway, it was too late now. 

Tucking himself back into his pants, he realized the girl had turned around and was staring at him wide-eyed. He may have left some bruises on her. She was breathing heavy, but she still wasn’t talking, so at least he had that. 

“Good night.”

That was really all he had to say as he walked down the alley and made his way back to his car.


	7. Lingerring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets an answer to his questions (Sam/Dean)

Over the past year or so, there had been so many questions, hundreds of different possibilities running around inside his head. He didn’t figure he’d ever get any answers, but that didn’t stop him from wondering.

For some reason, there was always one thing he came back to. What sensation would flood into his mouth if Dean’s tongue were licking inside it? Maybe the cinnamon chewing gum he always kept in his pocket? Or stale cigarette smoke if he’d been out at a bar and indulged in that particular vice that cropped up every now and then?

Would Dean’s skin taste like sweat and leather or like soap and aftershave? Would his cum be salty and bitter and as perfect as Sam had been imaging for all this time?

Finally, after a heated argument and a couple of punches thrown by both of them, Sam got to unlock all of those mysteries. Cigarettes, yes, covered over by cinnamon gum, soap covered over by sweat, bitter covered over by perfection. 

Even after they broke apart physically, the taste lingered and Sam didn’t want to sleep for fear of losing it.


	8. The First and The Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of Castiel's touch (Sam/Cas)

Sam didn’t realize it at the time, but it had started the very first time Castiel had touched him. Castiel was reluctant, unable to see Sam as anything but a demon-blood junkie and an abomination. But he’d shaken his hand anyway, Sam wasn’t sure why, but he was grateful.

As the years passed, Sam realized how much those brief moments of physical contact with Cas affected him. When they finally crossed the line into a physical relationship, Sam was stunned. Partly because he knew he was far from deserving of a gift like that from one of God’s own angels, and partly because he knew Castiel could snap his neck with a single thought but was certain that he never, ever would. Cas touched him like he was precious, like he should be revered and protected.

The very last time Castiel touched him, two fingers pressed to his forehead in a dirty alley, he’d purposely hurt him, ripped away his protection from his memories of the Cage. 

It was a good thing that Sam was unconscious for a long while afterwards. Castiel’s last touch had broken so much more than the wall in his mind.


	9. Another One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Bobby don't have time to properly mourn the loss of the Roadhouse (no pairing)

Sam was missing, and there was just no time for it, but Bobby and Dean were both compelled to stop just for a minute to mourn. The place had been a sanctuary for them and those like them for so long, the people who spent time at the Roadhouse were at least colleagues, and in some instances, like Ash, friends. They couldn’t bear the thought that Ellen might be in there among the smoking rubble of the burned out building.

There was no getting around it, though, they had to find Sam. There was nothing either of them could do for any of the poor souls who’d been there when the Roadhouse had burned.

The words just kept rattling around in Bobby’s head, from the god-knows-how-many funerals he’d attended in his life.

For you were made from dust, and to dust you will return.

Regretfully, they walked away from the wreckage and got back in the car, the tires kicking up more dust as they pulled away.


	10. Corners Of My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby confronts his memories (no pairing)

At first, he didn’t know if he found the presence of Rufus comforting or not. Rufus was dead, he’d moved on. Maybe he was there to show Bobby how to move on as well?

Fuck that. Bobby was staying right here, no matter how many bad memories he’d have to dig deep to find. An argument with John. “Yeah, I know I’m not their father.” Well, screw you, John, maybe I wasn’t then, but I am now.

And Karen…he’d give anything to take back how badly he hurt her. He could even live with having to kill her if he’d had a chance to make up for breaking her heart

That kid…yeah, now he realized how he knew that kid. It was the kid who’d shot Bobby’s father right in the goddamn forehead. That kid was him.

At least the reaper had given him one last chance, one last memory. His boys, respectively arguing the merits of appropriate movie snacks. For once, he’d managed to save the best for last, no matter what _last_ really meant right this minute.


	11. Not Just In My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuck didn't ask for this, not any of it (no pairing)

At first, he tried to block it out. 

Maybe Chuck really had been drinking too much, spending too many days and weeks cooped up alone in his house. He just couldn’t do anything else, though, with this crazy perception making its way from his body to his brain, a feeling like something was taking control of him.

And then it started. The voices, the pictures, the stories.

He didn’t want to hear them, but he had no choice except to listen. They weren’t going anywhere. 

So he started to write. Hell, if he had to listen to all this nonsense, he ought to make other people listen to it too.


	12. Not A Drop To Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt like they were being followed (Dean/Cas)

In the depths of tonight’s drunken thoughts, it occurred to Dean that there was a theme woven through the most important moments he’d had with his angel.

Castiel in his dream as he sat by a pier, fishing, looking out onto a beautiful lake.

Both of them trying to figure out why the hell he didn’t have the power to get himself off a shrimping boat off the coast of Delacroix, and making the realization of just how far Castiel had fallen. For Dean.

It was pouring down rain outside the first time they kissed, Dean’s hands sliding under Castiel’s wet shirt and feeling Castiel grabbing onto his dripping hair.

The last glimpse he caught of his angel, the thing that had taken Cas over was walking slowly out into the water until he disappeared underneath it.

Dean had just wrung out the dripping trenchcoat he’d recovered and kept moving. There was nothing else he could do.


	13. Taken Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel doesn't want to feel any of it. (no pairing)

He could feel it, almost always. Tucked away into a tiny corner, he knew it all. Walking straight in on a preacher’s sermon and making the man choke on his own tongue. Carefully manipulating events so that the world created by the one who’d gone before him could improve. He cringed at his dismissal of Dean and Sam Winchester, and of Robert Singer, who’d taken him in like family all this time. 

The souls were overtaking him now, making him feel less and less, never giving him a moment to break out of the prison in which he’d trapped himself. 

He’d done terrible things. Not as terrible as what his missing Father had done over the millennium, but still, good intentions or not, he’d never meant for everything to get so out of hand. 

Castiel could feel all of it, hear it, he knew everything that was happening, But wherever he was, it was completely dark. Not a speck of light, nothing to allow him to actually see any of it. He knew what it was, but not being able to see himself do it from his dark corner wherever this was…he was grateful for that, at least.


	14. The Only Prescription

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temptation avoided (Sam & Dean, gen)

It’s not like there wasn’t a list of drinks he could choose from. There was juice and bottled water in the mini-fridge by the cabinet. Outside stood a Coke machine where he could grab himself a soda or a Powerade in exchange for a few quarters.

Dean was thirsty. But not really. His throat wasn’t parched, his lips weren’t dry. But he was shaking, hands trembling out of his control. His head throbbed relentlessly and he felt restless, anxious…overwhelmed by this thirst.

He needed a drink. He tried telling himself he _wanted_ a drink. The truth, as far as his body was concerned, was that he needed a drink. A few swigs of whiskey straight from the bottle. Hell, he’d even settle for a few cans of shitty beer. Ten hours. It had been ten hours and he was already twitching like a smackhead.

Even though he’d promised Sam, he was relatively certain that if he was alone, he’d find himself some alcohol in a hot second. Breaking a promise to his brother was not exactly a habit for Dean, but the booze…that was a habit. He tried to tell himself that even if Sam wasn’t sitting there in the same room, he’d still keep his promise to stop. But he was fairly sure he was lying to himself about that.


	15. Pictures In His Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wants to see what Sam sees (gen)

“That’s always the first one I can pick out.”

Dean looked up, trying hard to see what his baby brother was seeing. Wise beyond his years, certainly, only ten, but with an old soul. 

“Which one?”

“That one”, Sam replied, just a huff of indignation in his voice, pointing up toward the sky as they took in the darkness, dotted by stars here in the middle of nowhere, a place where light from the ground didn’t block out the tiny lights in the sky. “Orion. The Hunter.”

No matter how hard Sam tried to draw it out with his fingers in the air, Dean still had a hard time pulling the points of light into a picture.

“His belt, there, those three. His shoulder, and his bow. Can’t you see it, De? Just look. Really look.”

It was winter, and he was so cold, but Dean didn’t care. He just wanted to see what Sam saw. Wanted more than anything to know what was happening in Sammy’s head.

He resigned himself to the fact that some things, he’d not have any way to know, no matter what. It didn’t take away what Dean loved about watching the stars with Sam.


	16. Not What You Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is pretty sure he knows. (Dean & Cas, could be read as gen or slash)

Another evening spent lying on the hood of the Impala, staring up at the sky, shoulders touching, hips brushing up against each other.

Cas stared upwards, barely responding to any of Dean’s attempts at conversation.

“I’m really sorry, man. I mean it, I know at least some of this is on me, and I never meant for things to work out this way.”

“Why are you apologizing to me for actions I took? Decisions I made on my own? I wish you would not feel badly”, Cas replied, barely able to stifle a laugh at the fact that he wished anything. He wasn’t supposed to wish for anything, to want anything, it wasn’t what he was made for. 

Then, he wasn’t made to fall, and that was happening anyway.

“Dude, I’m just saying, I can see you looking up like you miss Heaven so fucking much.”

“I am not looking for Heaven, Dean. I am simply looking at the moon, and appreciating its beauty, as I have not been able to do in the past. As far as your part in that, I have you only to thank, not to blame.”

They were silent for a while, neither of them knowing what to say to the other.


	17. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fire had touched everything (Dean/Sam)

When Dean was first ordered to take care of his baby brother, he was really still just a baby himself. He remembered the explosion, the smoke, the heat, the sirens.

When both of them were old enough, they’d learned to salt and burn the bones of restless spirits, watching until the light they’d created grew dim.

When Sam thought he was safely back to his “normal” life, the sight of Jess burning on the ceiling and the taste of the ashes in his mouth as Dean dragged him out of the room were almost like a memory. 

When Dean and Sam were in bed together, they could almost see the heat between them, the fire, and they realized that flames really did dance, it wasn’t just a saying.


	18. Part Inspiration, Part Perspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley weighs the pros and cons (no pairing)

He’d taken on what he considered an incredibly attractive meatsuit this time around, and he even enjoyed looking at it, touching it sometimes. It was wondrous, honestly, and sexy as hell, having his hands all over his own borrowed body, even better in some ways than having his hands all over someone else’s (borrowed or not). But the hands were necessary. He needed them to do his work, to wield his scalpel, to elicit the screams and examine bits and pieces that fascinated him to no end. 

Despite being in possession of his full demonic powers and strength, there were a few drawbacks to shoving all this raw power into a human form, what his frenemies referred to as a “vessel” when they were discussing an angel possessing a body. 

Moving his forearm across his brow, he looked down at what was left behind. This, he’d never get used to. Sticky and malodorous, but in a way so reminiscent of the beings he taunted and tortured. 

Crowley didn’t like to sweat. But knowing he could make others do it was a fabulous reward.


	19. Not Just Burgers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Famine's influence on Castiel (Dean/Cas)

They sat in the Impala, Dean watching him consume another hamburger and asking how many he’d had.

“Lost count. Somewhere in the low hundreds.”

A little more conversation, the effect Jimmy’s love of red meat was having in the wake of Famine’s grip on this town, Dean’s seeming immunity to the obsessions that had overtaken so many others here. Dean figured he could just talk him through it, explain the physical feeling of being hungry and having food cravings, maybe that would just be it.

“This is not everything, Dean. There is another hunger, and it is not a result of any lingering effect of my vessel.”

“What, then? You’re desperate to get back, right? You can’t control your impulse to return to Heaven? Is that it?”

Castiel’s usual deep voice was an entire register lower as he responded. “No, Dean”, and reached across the front seat, wrapping his hand around his charge’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss that was as far from chaste as Dean could ever remember getting.

Dean thought for just a second that Cas would lose this once they had Famine defeated. But then he remembered…the horseman didn’t just pluck desires from thin air. He only intensified the ones that were already there. 

Fuck fuck fuck.


	20. Something To Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somebody had to say it. (gen, kid!Winchesters)

On top of everything else he’d had to try to wrap his brain around the past couple of months, John was honestly concerned about Dean’s refusal to speak. He’d gone quiet after the fire, and had only communicated with his father by nodding or shaking his head, pointing at things or gesturing the best way he knew how. Hell, barely five years old, Dean couldn’t read or write much except his name, so they couldn’t even pass notes. 

Jim had told him Dean would start talking again in his own time, and John believed that to be true, but it still scared him. What if it didn’t pass? What if Dean never spoke again? The only thing the kid really seemed interested in now was his baby brother. Sammy had Dean’s attention all the time. John hoped maybe one day he’d hear his older boy singing a lullaby or something, but it didn’t happen. 

One night at Jim’s, John found himself in a familiar situation – rocking Sammy and trying to soothe him to sleep after giving him some infant’s Tylenol for teething. Dean had gone to bed hours earlier, but Sam was still fussing. Behind him, he heard the sound he’d been waiting for. 

Dean sounded like he was sick, his voice scratchy from disuse. “Whiskey.”

John’s shock was obvious as he crouched down so he could be at Dean’s level. “What’d you say, son?”

It took a minute, but Dean was able to come up with the rest. “Mommy told me you put whiskey on my teeth when they made me cry.”

Dean hadn’t wanted to speak, but Sammy wasn’t old enough. Somebody had to do it.


	21. Somehow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobby reflects on how he got into the business (no pairing)

No one just wakes up one day and decides they’re going to hunt the supernatural for the rest of their lives. Oh, no, not anyone sane, anyway. Not anyone Bobby had ever met. Everyone gets into hunting somehow.

His “somehow” had been so long ago, yet still seemed like yesterday. Moving to greet his beautiful wife, Karen, only to realize that she wasn’t really her. He wasn’t sure, exactly, how he knew she was _possessed_ , hell, maybe he didn’t know. But he knew it wasn’t Karen. And that was why he stabbed her. That was why he used his own hands to kill his love. 

These days, the tears were fewer and farther between, held off by a healthy dose of emotion-drowning bourbon. But they still came, from time to time. He wished he’d been one of those dumb sons of bitches who’d figured out shit like demon possession so he could have saved Karen instead of killing her, tears in his eyes even as he plunged in the knife.


	22. Wrapped Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Underage Wincest-y UST

Some days his desire for his brother was all he could think about. He was distracted from school, from training, from eating, from really everything. Anytime Dean was near, Sam couldn’t concentrate on anything else except how bad he wanted him. After almost two years of trying to ignore it, he’d given up, quit even trying to deny it to himself. 

There were times when he wished he was still a small boy, so it would be okay to throw his arms around Dean, or rest his head on Dean’s shoulder while they were watching TV at night. He wanted so badly to climb into his brother’s bed when there was a thunderstorm or when their dad was gone. But he was too old for that now, and Dean would think…well, he would know. And that just could not happen. 

Had he not been so focused on his own yearning, maybe he’d have noticed that his older brother felt the same way, and was just as afraid of it as Sam was.


	23. Hush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too much at stake for them to risk getting caught (Sam/Dean underage)

As his cock slid further into Dean’s mouth, Sam couldn’t help but moan. He’d tried so hard to be quiet, but he couldn’t hold this one back. A warning hand tightened on his hip, Dean’s reminder.

John was downstairs, probably passed out drunk, but there was no way to know for sure what might wake him. Hunters weren’t light sleepers, even with the help of their friends Jack Daniels and Jim Beam. 

So Sam went silent again, this time shoving his own fist into his mouth as Dean sucked him and fingered him, working him open. His breaths were hitched and he was almost in tears from the effort it took to remain silent. But he couldn’t make a sound, he knew. He’s been practicing for almost a year now, since a few months after he turned sixteen and couldn’t wait anymore to move past the tame snuggling and kissing he and Dean had been dabbling in for a year or so. 

Dean didn’t like doing it, but when he raised up and got ready to enter his brother, he moved Sam’s fist away and placed his palm over his brother’s mouth. Sam was good at staying quiet, mostly, but Dean’s dick pounding away at him always broke the silence, and it wasn’t worth the risk of any sounds traveling into their father’s ears. There was too much at stake.


	24. Me, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's return gets Dean back to his old tricks. (no pairing)

“For what it’s worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.”

But he’d done it anyway. Of course he had. 

And now it was all back, everything Dean had worked so hard to shut out of his mind. Torturing Alistair, not in Hell, but right here, topside, for real…he thought he’d had an idea. He’d told Castiel what would happen if he did it, but he’d been so terribly wrong. It was much, much worse. 

Four days now, coffee and Vivarin and Dean thought maybe he’d go insane for real if he didn’t sleep at some point. But sleeping was off-limits. When his eyes were open, and he could actually see what was in front of him, it wasn’t so bad. Oh, but when his eyes closed…that was when the sight of it wouldn’t go away, and he couldn’t force his mind to retreat from the memories of what he saw. The blade, the salt, the blood.

Probably because he was seeing something that he’d done himself.


	25. Camels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel picks up a new habit after he falls (Sam/Cas, implied character death)

There was always something about Cas, the way he’d pop in when he was an angel, this distinct sound and crackling air, the smell of ozone and some other unidentifiable but familiar thing that Sam had never been able to put his finger on. 

He didn’t really wonder what it was anymore. But it was grass. The scent of the freshly cut grass in the park of Castiel’s Heaven, where he used to sit and watch a brightly colored kite float through the air.

Cas couldn’t go back there now, he wasn’t an angel, he was a man, just like Sam. Flawed and perfect, like all of God’s creations. 

It was just the two of them now. Not much left to hunt, but they did what they could and kept their mouths shut about the ones who weren’t there anymore. 

Even more differences emerged as the months wore on. They started fucking, for one thing, which was fine. No ridiculous declarations of love or public displays of affection, just holding on to what they had. As with all other things human, Cas had learned quickly. Sam was floored to come back to their motel one day and see that Cas had turned an empty beer bottle into an ashtray and was flicking ashes from a filterless Camel into it. 

He didn’t bother to question it. He’d never said even the first world to Cas about it. His business, Sam figured, whatever. He thought eventually he’d get used to the smell, not stale nicotine like he’d been accustomed to in motel rooms over the years, but actual cigarette smoke clinging to Cas’ clothes, his skin, his mouth. 

It hadn’t happened yet, but it would. Surely, at some point, Sam would just accept it as part of what he had, what was left of his family, one fallen angel and the occasional appearance of a demon. If Crowley’s presence didn’t make his skin crawl anymore, he could certainly expect to settle in to Cas’ cigarette breath.


	26. Blinding. Almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's revisit the fireworks scene (underage gen Sam & Dean)

There couldn't be any other explanation. It had to be something like a dream, or a spell, or one of those memories that you let yourself get caught up into without meaning for it to happen.

This was an old one. Real old.

"This is the best, Dean. Thanks."

And just like that, Sammy's arms were thrown around him. Like they were then, when they were kids, and neither of them felt any shame in it, holding onto each other like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then there were the lights. The night was pitch black, until they changed it, the two of them, turning the sky into a show, a million colors, no one else around to see. Because it wasn't for anyone else, it was just for Dean and Sam. 

One after another, the colors streaked across the sky, and Dean saw something he'd almost forgotten about. Sam's smile. The real, true, happy, not-weighted-down-by-anything grin, as he jumped around and reveled in this Independance Day ritual, so natural for other kids, so forbidden for the two of them.

The light seeped into Dean's soul, and he was determined to never let it go.


	27. Divided The Light From The Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes out of his grave (no pairing)

More than his damaged hands and fingernails, more than his cramped muscles and tight lungs, the sun hurt like a bitch. It was like a flame in his eyes. 

Dean took in his surroundings, the fallen trees, the simple wooden cross. 

He didn’t understand. Not any of it. Another trick, maybe. Let him think he was out…but it had been a while since anyone but him had been doing the tricking of the souls on the rack. 

Anyway, there was no way for this to be a trick. The heat from the sun rippled up in waves off the pavement as he started to walk. The intensity of its brightness was too real. He was sweating, real sweat, he could feel it, smell it. 

If the sun was real, then maybe…


	28. Too Far Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wishes Sam was just having a dream. (Dean/Sam)

Sam stirred again, his eyes still closed but darting around beneath his lids constantly. 

Dean wished his brother were having a nighmare. 

He wished that it was all just a bad dream. That, he could do something about.

If Sammy was having a bad dream, Dean could just climb into bed next to him and put his arms around his waist, holding on tight.

He could run his fingers through Sam's hair, whisper into his ear that he was all right, his big brother was right there and none of it was real.

But there was nothing Dean could do about this. All the coddling and kissing and whispering in the world hadn't been able to break Sam free of the Hell memories that came flooding back after the Wall had fallen. 

Dean couldn't reassure his brother that it was just a dream. 

Because it wasn't.

And Sam couldn't hear him anyway.


	29. Maybe Not Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a disconnect. (Sam/Ruby)

Dean wouldn’t ever understand. He’d never forgive him, because he couldn’t see. 

It was the only way. He didn’t have these powers for no reason. Just to let them sit and rot when he could use them to do something good, something that made a difference. 

Maybe it really was a gift, as Azazel had claimed, the droplets in his mouth as he lay in his crib all those years ago. Without it, Sam wouldn’t have any of this. Wouldn’t have the feeling of being strong and capable for the first time in years. Wouldn’t have the strength to lay demons to waste with just a look. Wouldn’t have Ruby’s soft body underneath him as he gorged himself on as much blood as she’d let him take. Sometimes more than that. 

He’d never tell Dean. Well, maybe not never. But not now. Not yet.


	30. All That's Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought he'd never have it again, and that was okay. (Sam/Dean)

He wished, for just a moment, that he could taste something else. Leather, smoke, gun oil, sweat. Dean. 

But that wasn’t what he got. He thought, after this, all that was gone, and he’d never taste those things again. .

Right now all Sam had was the dirt that coated the worn-out carpet. He was pushed into it, unable or at the very least unwilling to fight back, as Dean pushed his face to the ground, and he tried to breathe, but no air entered his lungs. Just dirt, as Dean pushed him into the floor of the motel room, screaming his anger into the open space above him. Righteous anger, well-deserved. 

Sam was sorry, he really was. And Dean must have known it as he pulled him up. Now there was air, and the dirt was gone. Gone from his lungs, but not gone from him. Sam was dirty, but Dean loved him just as much.


End file.
